Unfinished Woman
I am
by definition
an unfinished woman
a fragmented heart
an uneven dilemma
follow here
the perilous route
of a prosy poetess
defined only by work
on a theory of love
& when I perish
when the earth moves
they will discover my
bones embedded deep
within the rocky below
bones in the shape
of curious decrees
sentences stretching
for long distances
dispatching big words
transmitting veracities
indecipherable to the
average naked eye
I am
by definition
an unfinished woman
a tortured daughter
an uncompromised lover
follow here
my resolute advice
my unrivaled practice
write your failures
brilliantly
**
So yesterday I worried I was facing writer’s block. As soon as I completed my blog and shared it,
I wrote a small chunk of dialogue for ‘Mute’.
Maybe saying it out loud helps? I
was grateful for the tiny flash and to have a small conversation set up the
next stage of the story. I also learned a
few new things about my current characters I didn’t know before, that was exciting. I employed the correct grammar too so let’s
hope I make the grade.
I wrote the above poem yesterday. It made me cry as I scribbled. It came from a deep corner of my heart from
the places I am most pure, about the pieces of me that so few know or who
couldn’t be bothered to see.
I’m still out of sorts today but it could be the gloomy
fog and rain outside and the fact that so many of my people are in current
states of disarray and I worry about them.
My wishes for them are peaceful breathing and optimal outcomes.
Is it Friday yet?
Wild wild horses, we’ll ride them someday …
In propinquity,
Nic
Okay...so the wild horses line just made me cry...
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem, Nic...especially loved the last line
love you
Love you too. xo
DeleteWe are all works in progress. I thought of this poem during a semi-lucid moment in the middle of the night last night and realized that I hope you never get finished, Nic, because once you are, you'll be done.
ReplyDeleteYour sentiment struck more than one note, though. There is melancholy in these words, as are great beauty and promise in the soul that strung them together. I particularly love the "when I perish" part. I'm weepier than usual this week, but the imagery made me want to curl up and sob.
Perhaps there's something in the air? I cried when I wrote it. For so many reasons but maybe it's because I'm afraid of being 'done'. But, when I am, I want to be laid to rest just like Rita MacNeil, in a teapot. :)
DeleteI see why you would cry while writing; it's a beautiful, sweet, ever-so-sad piece. You have such a gift, Nicole. I felt the ache myself, perhaps because you touched something equivalent in me. I will say that it's a bit depressing, as if you were in a shadowy place when writing it; there are brilliant successes to write as well, yes? But in present space, you can only go with what your heart tells you at the time. And with the fricking full moon this week, there's been nine kinds of depressing in my world.
ReplyDeleteI can't think of a better way for you to go out than in a teapot!
*hugs*